


Abigail

by irisgoddess



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, I put way to much thought into this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisgoddess/pseuds/irisgoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had big plans for herself, and then she died. Twice. (Character study of the Harvest girl whose name is never said onscreen. Oneshot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abigail

Abigail Marie Natale-Jones was born on the fall equinox, as the sun set and the moon rose. Her mother would claim this meant she would be a powerful witch, strong enough to become an Elder someday. (There had been a Natale Elder in almost every generation since the coven’s founding, and Claudia Delphine Natale was determined to have her daughter be one of them, although her magic was so pitiful she had given up her own campaign.)

Abigail died in May, not quite seventeen and a half years later, her corpse left pinned to the side of one of the crypts. When her body was found (by Paulina Summerlin née Rodriguez, not a witch herself but married to one with three children) she couldn’t be separated from the wall. When Claudia arrived and saw her daughter limp and bloody with an iron fence post through her stomach, she collapsed to the ground, unable to move even to get close. (That empty-eyed thing was all that was left of her legacy, Claudia thought for half a second, before she realized that was a horrible thing to think when her baby girl was dead. (Suddenly she remembered Abigail’s first word had been a babbled version of “spell”, and she used to smile a big, baby-toothed smile and point excitedly every time one of her parents did magic.))

\---

When Aunt Bastianna (actually a cousin once or twice removed, Abigail wasn’t sure and didn’t care; she was the current Natale Elder and that made her an important family member) announced the Harvest would take place, Abigail was excited. Or at least, she pretended to be excited so well she fooled herself. Her mother smiled in anticipation of her daughter being chosen.

And when she was picked from the crowd of white-clad girls, she realized she had expected it all along. She was meant to be a great witch, and the Ancestors were just confirming it. (One real Natale, no hyphenation, wasn’t selected, which she hadn’t expected. That made her victory feel more significant, somehow.)

\---

Abigail didn’t know the other Harvest girls very well, at first. Mostly she knew their family histories: Monique was a Devereux, father unknown, but whose mother was one of the strongest advocates for the Harvest. Davina was a Claire (slightly scorned for the mistakes of one Mary-Alice in 1914), father known but not around, and not a warlock. Cassie’s grandfather, Henry Theodore, was the first and only Harrison to be consecrated on New Orleans soil, and her family had been around for only a few decades, but both her parents were witches. Abigail couldn’t remember what family her mother was from, but it had to be old since all the Harvest girls had to be descendents of the first French Quarter coven.

But eventually she learned more. Monique and Davina were best friends, both fairly serious, although Davina was more impulsive and better at holding a grudge. Cassie read books constantly, some worn out paperback in her hands at all times, even if she kept it closed to do something else. Davina played piano for them once, and it was incredibly beautiful (to Abigail’s untrained ears, anyway). Monique whispered cutting insults shyly, as if uncertain whether she was being too mean, and giggled afterwards.

(Often, Monique and Davina would start talking about something the other two had no context for, and Abigail did her best to pull Cassie out of her shell. Cassie had trouble starting a conversation, but if she heard something interesting, she could talk for ages.

(“You realize we’re the storm elements right?” Cassie said once, as if it were very important. “Water and air.”

“Hey!” Abigail teased. “It’s air and water.”

“In your dreams,” Cassie responded playfully. (It wasn’t clever banter, but it was enough.)))

Increasingly, Abigail was able to stop acting like the next great Natale around them, and start acting like herself, laughing at the things she found funny and going along with ideas she found interesting without worrying what image she was projecting. They weren’t the first friends she had ever felt comfortable with, but they were good ones.

\---

Abigail went to be put to sleep first. (Order didn’t really matter – traditionally, it went earth, water, air, fire, but Monique and Davina had wanted to be next to each other.) She tried her best to balance looking innocent and wise in front of the coven, tried to look the perfect Harvest girl (the next Natale Elder (the legacy her mother wanted)). Aunt Bastiana waited for her.

“Do you believe in the Harvest?” Abigail nodded (a loud yes was too confident for innocence, a soft yes too shy for wisdom, so a fearful nod it was).

(Later she wondered what would have happened if she said no, or even just took a moment to breathe and consider. Marcel might have showed up before anyone died, might have stopped everything. The coven would’ve lost its magic, but the four of them would still be alive and friends, and the Originals wouldn’t have been brought to town.)

She extended her hand towards her aunt.

\---

And so Abigail Marie Natale-Jones died (for the first time, anyway).

\---

The ancestors weren’t kind, exactly, but they were welcoming. She studied with witches who had been dead for centuries, learning answers to questions she’d never thought to ask. She met a few Natales, but no Joneses. She didn’t see Monique or Aunt Bastianna, though she ran into Cassie once (who seemed to have just realized that she couldn’t touch books while dead, and didn’t like that fact). There were too many Ancestors to find any specific people, but all of them were willing to share lessons with a Harvest girl.

“There are many kinds of magic,” a veiled widow (Anne Livaudais, from a line of witches with no living descendents)  told her once. “There is personal magic, which comes from within, magic that calls upon the great spirits of nature, magic fueled by death, even magic that seeks to destroy other magic. But ancestral magic is the least selfish.”

“Why?” asked Abigail when it seemed like the Ancestor might just stop talking there. (The older ones did that sometimes, having forgotten how conversations worked after too many years dead.)

“By consecrating witches with their own power, we can share power with those who would have none. Not every witch’s child is a witch, but so long as they have the blood of one, they can call upon their ancestors. Every witch here has sacrificed some of their own power to fuel the community.” Abigail found this heartening.

Another time, a middle-aged Ancestor with a top hat and a monocle (name unknown (he’d been found dead with a grimoire in his pocket and the coven had figured there’d be no harm in claiming his power)) showed her magical theory, the art of drafting her own spells. “Magic is just like engineering,” he instructed her. “The pieces fit together according to rules, although they seem more arbitrary.” Abigail found it fascinating – how was it that so few witches made their own grimoires anymore, when there were an infinite number of spells to create? She resolved to start her own after the Reaping.

If there was a Reaping, that was. If Davina stopped being afraid and died for her friends. If she found faith. (Abigail remembered the mix of stubbornness and impulsiveness that had seemed benign in her friend before, but might ruin the entire coven now.)

\---

The Ancestors threw a temper tantrum. That was the only way to describe the earthquake and storm they unleashed on the city to try to get Davina to complete the Harvest. But it worked – Davina gave herself to Sophie Devereux to be killed.

Abigail was still dead, though, because some rude witch funneled the magic elsewhere. Monique got to come back first, and Abigail tailed her out of boredom. (The Ancestors had a lot to teach, but she needed a break. She’d already been dead months longer than she was supposed to be.)

So she watched as Monique choked her aunt to death.

(Who was that monster in the skin of her friend, she wondered.)

\---

Abigail was talking to one of her own ancestors (the first Jones she had seen), when suddenly she was lying somewhere dark and cramped, with cold stone. She panicked, shoving at the walls and hyperventilating.

Then she realized she was breathing – she was alive.

The thought calmed her down somewhat, enough that she could focus on the situation around her. She heard voices outside her tomb, and started pounding on the bricked up entrance in the hope that they could hear her, but no such luck. Then Abigail started to laugh – she was a witch, the solution was obvious. All it took was some chanting, and she could push the bricks out magically to free up the entrance.

As she pulled herself out, the people she had heard reached her. One of them was Monique (monster or friend, who knew), the other was a redhead that she felt she should recognize, but didn’t. (Something about her posture emanated authority, demanded respect. Abigail paid close attention)

The redhead spoke first: “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yes, I’m fine. At least, now that I’m not dead.” Speaking felt weird, since she hadn’t actually used her vocal chords for nearly a year (but she maintained her composure, because pretending to be in control was the only way to actually get in control). “Did you come here for me?”

“Genevieve was with Bastianna when she died, so she knew that a Harvest girl was about to wake up and came here to tell me,” Monique answered. (So the redhead’s name was Genevieve – Abigail felt even more like she should have been able to recognize the name.)

“I need to go home,” she said, firmly.

“I’ll take you,” Monique said. “You shouldn’t walk alone right now.” (Abigail wondered if the cruelty she had seen was an unique occurrence, if her friend was still generally a good person.)

They walked to Abigail’s apartment complex, mostly exchanging stories about various Ancestors they had talked to. Abigail asked who Genevieve was, and Monique explained (with more than a hint of hostility in her voice, something Abigail hadn’t heard from her before they died). Apparently, Monique was alone in the apartments above Rousseau's, although a wealthy human had already bought the first floor, so she had some money, and the wait staff checked in on her periodically. Many of the witches had also been giving her extravagant gifts that could be sold if times got desperate.

“You’ll get some too. They love us for bringing power back to the coven.”

Abigail just nodded. When they got to the building, she asked Monique not to come up.

“I have a feeling it’s going to be a private moment.”

“Of course. Go, see your family.”

Abigail buzzed her apartment from the gate. “Hey, it’s me. Abigail. I’m back.” (Pathetic, but what else was she supposed to say?)

She heard her father’s shocked voice on the intercom. “Abigail? Abigail?”

“Hey, Dad. Can we… can you let me in so we can do this in person?”

She heard the buzz and walked through the gate.

\---

The reunion was a blur. Both her parents had been waiting for her, and the first thing they did was wrap her tightly in a hug, not even bothering to close the door. (She idly wondered what they told the neighbors about her absence.) When they let go, there was a stream of questions: How was she back? What was it like being dead? Were the other girls coming back too? There were a myriad “I love you”s and “I missed you so much”s scattered throughout both the questions and the answers, and they moved to sit down on the couch so they could basically hug throughout the conversation.

(The apartment was fairly large, with three bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms. Abigail loved it even before the Harvest, and now, being home felt amazing.)

She felt a tear trail down her cheek, followed by another, and then another. Her mother stopped mid-sentence to hug her tightly again, starting to cry herself. Her father followed suit quickly. (Abigail had never seen either of her parents cry before, except when her father broke his arm. None of them were very good at expressing their emotions, but there they were, sobbing.)

Eventually, they calmed down, and Abigail asked to see her room. (There were some things she had to do.)

\---

The room was almost exactly as she had left it. Her parents had come in to vacuum and dust, so some things were moved or put away, but other than that… it looked the same as it had the day of the Harvest. (She’d stood in front of the mirror in her white dress, feeling like a princess. Later that day, she’d been a corpse.) Of course, it helped that she’d cleaned off her floors before that, knowing she was to be out of comission for a few months. She grabbed an old stuffed animal from its hiding place underneath the bed (just in case she needed to deny still having a stuffed animal (it wasn’t mature (it wasn’t something a future Elder would do))). She hugged it tightly – a white lion, mildly ratty due to over a decade of use and misuse. At three, she’d cycled through a bunch of names for it (Lion, Fuzzbutt, Moonlight, Hex Cat) before eventually settling on Maney, which at that age, seemed like a clever pun. After kissing it lightly on the head, she stowed it away again, feeling even better than she had before.

Abigail wasn’t tired. In fact, she had a feeling she was going to be too full of energy to sleep that night. She grabbed her robe off its hanger and headed to the bathroom, ready to get all the tomb dust off of her. She glanced at herself in the mirror – still the same Abigail on the outside (and the same Abigail at her core, she thought, just with some more knowledge).

Feeling clean was wonderful. Her parents had put the laundry hamper in the bathroom, making things convenient, and she wore the robe until she got behind the bedroom door and could change. She chose something simple, skinny jeans and a loose top, revelling in how normal she felt.

Once that was done, she grabbed a blank notebook (having too many cool notebooks to fill is a nearly universal first world problem) and flipped to the first page. Snatching a pencil from her desk and laying down on top of her (butterfly-covered) sheets, she wrote “The First Grimoire of Abigail Marie Natale-Jones” in big, looping letters. Beneath it, she drew a glyph she’d learned from an Ancestor, locking her grimoire so only people of her bloodline could read it. (She labelled the glyph in smaller writing, so any of her descendents could reuse it themselves.)

She was going to live better, this time around.

\---

That evening, Abigail received a text from Monique (she’d had the forethought to charge up her long dead phone): _Celeste tried to betray us. She’s dead, and now Davina’s alive, but not here._ (Monique and Abigail both tended to text with a little too much grammar, something that Davina used to complain about and Cassie used to giggle at.)

She elected to ignore the text, as it was unclear what she should do about it, although there was a clear power vacuum. There were no Elders left, with Bastianna dead again, and Celeste was the only one who Abigail could imagine being allowed to take over. At least with Harvest girls, Elders were slightly unnecessary, as they had their own connections to the Ancestors. But a seventeen year old, even if she was a Harvest girl, wasn’t going to get the entire coven to follow her. (Maybe if there were a full set of four… but Monique and Davina were both politically minded enough to actually oppose her, and Cassie’s support would be split. A quarter of the power wasn’t actually enough to stop stupid decisions.)

Another text from Monique arrived, _She trapped the Originals in the cemetery before I killed her, all three of them. Klaus wants to kill Rebekah, Elijah’s trying to stop him, no matter how you slice it there will probably be one less Original in the world soon._

Abigail typed up a reply quickly (trying not to react to the casual reveal that her friend had committed another murder), _What? How did the Originals end up turned against each other?_

_Genevieve revealed something Rebekah did a century ago to Klaus. He got mad._

Understatement of the year.

_I think it was pretty bad. Anyway, just trying to keep you updated on the political situation._

_Thanks. Bye_ , Abigail texted, ending the conversation.

\---

The next morning, there was a knock on Abigail’s door to wake her up,

“Who is it?” she called out.

“Get dressed, honey, there’s someone here to see you,” her dad said. Confused, Abigail picked out a decent outfit and smoothed out her hair before walking to the living room. Genevieve was on the couch (why would she visit?), so Abigail took a chair on the other side of the coffee table.

“Abigail. It’s nice to see you in better condition.”

“I wish I could say the same, but you look pretty much the same as you did yesterday.”

“But today isn’t yesterday. Today the French Quarter coven is without a leader.”

“If you came here, then you must have a candidate in mind.” Abigail didn’t name herself as the candidate just in case she was wrong, so she wouldn’t sound self-centered.

“I think that the coven might be best left to me.” Abigail hadn’t been expecting that at all.

“Why? What are your qualifications?”

“Think of everything you learned with the Ancestors, in less than a year. I’ve been an Ancestor for almost a century.”

“Is that it?”

“I was hoping, when I try to convince the coven, I could also be calling myself the private magic tutor of at least one Harvest girl.” (So that’s why she came to visit.)

“And you think you can teach me?”

“I think that I talked to Bastianna when she was resurrected and asked her what the Harvest girls had been like. She told me there were three girls who would never be more than pawns in other people’s games, and you. A politician in the making. I would think this is an excellent opportunity to install yourself as a leader in the community.”

“You might be right.” (The flattery was a bit over the top, and completely uncharacteristic of Aunt Bastiana, but the principles were sound – Abigail wanted to lead, and this was a chance.)

“So will you support me by accepting me as your tutor?”

“Since you asked so kindly, yes.”

(After Genevieve left, Abigail’s mother took out a tub of mint chip ice cream in order to celebrate her first big political move. As she ate, Abigail felt as though the future of New Orleans was in the palm of her hand.)

\---

The coven accepted Genevieve within hours, and her first act as the witches’ leader was to get Davina back from Marcel and mandate that all three Harvest girls were to study with her. Davina was put in Abigail’s guest room, since her mother had died when Marcel had raided the Harvest. She kept to herself, mostly, although she politely thanked Abigail’s family for meals and shelter. (The two of them should’ve grown closer, sharing a house, yet somehow they felt miles apart.) Monique stayed in the apartment above Rousseau's, supported by donations from other witches, who were honored to be aiding a Harvest girl.

Learning together was… difficult. At the start, Davina was more likely to storm out of the lycée than try to finish Genevieve’s lessons. Even once she started trying, she couldn’t manage to do any magic at all. (Abigail wondered what had happened to her to make her so afraid.) Monique made things worse, making a big show of her friendship with Abigail in order to make Davina uncomfortable and insulting her at every opportunity. She didn’t have any patience for the lessons either – she did the simple spells with ease, but ignored the magical theory that was the point.

Abigail quickly became Genevieve’s favorite, as the only one who showed her any respect. She held private lessons with all three of the girls, but Abigail’s ran overtime with conversations about politics and magical theory. Monique may have casting high level spells, but Abigail’s grimoire was slowly filling with spells of her own design (with Genevieve’s help, of course).

The Originals sat in their castle, moping over the betrayal of their sister or something, but the city was still a battleground. The wolves stayed in the bayou, at least, because they couldn’t be cured of their curse until the next full moon, but the witches and the vampires had no referees to call them out when they stepped out of bounds.

Paulina Summerlin and her twelve year old twins (Nina and Paisley) barely escaped a vampire attack going out for groceries. Trina Peterson wasn’t nearly as lucky, showing up drained of blood in the alley behind her shop. Abigail knew that some of the witches weren’t much better, hunting vampires in their spare time, but it was hard to figure out who when the entire community seemed out to defend them.

Genevieve had a couple of meetings with the vampire factions, but peace terms never seemed to suit either side. Meetings with the human faction didn’t go much better, if only because Father Kieran wanted his hex gone, but there wasn’t enough power in New Orleans to cure him. At least the humans didn’t revoke their licenses to be street vendors or own shops, so they could make a living legally. (Abigail’s father was a lawyer, so she didn’t have to worry about this as much, but some of the witches might have burned down the city in retaliation.)

Then Elijah Mikaelson called a meeting, and the war stopped to listen to them.

\---

“ _Belle la vie à cette fleur. Belle la vie à cette fleur. Belle la vie à cette fleur maintenant_.” Abigail watched her rose fill with life. Monique was standing close to her, smiling contentedly at her own success. (Genevieve wasn’t back from the meeting yet, but she’d left Abigail the lesson plans.)

“See Davina?,” Abigail said with her best supportive friend face, although she doubted it was very convincing. “All you have to do is try.” The spell was simple, just moving power from the Ancestors to the flower. (Most witches wouldn’t need chanting, but ancestral witches needed to request power as they used it. Sharing complicated things.)

“I am trying,” Davina responded dejectedly.

“Trying and failing,” Monique added smugly. “Ever since you came back.” Abigail flinched a little just hearing that, remembering how inseparable the two of them used to be, but she didn’t have time to get a word in.

“When are you going to stop being such a bitch to me, Monique?” Davina sounded more exhausted than angry. (Abigail wondered if they’d fought and made up before. She hoped so.)

“When you stop being weak,” Monique countered. “You’re supposed to be a Harvest girl but… maybe you don’t belong here. Maybe you never did.” (She looked so satisfied while causing Davina pain (just like when killing Sophie, said a morbid part of Abigail).)

Davina looked ready to collapse to the floor or shove Monique through a window, Abigail wasn’t sure. “Monique, stop it,” she said, attempting to stop it before anything was said that couldn’t be forgiven (a little late for that). “Davina used our power for months, she’s not used to her own anymore.”

“Right, she left us for dead and kept our power.”

“And we’re forgiving her, because we don’t know what we’d have done if we actually had a choice.” Abigail focused on radiating authority.

“Whatever.” Monique turned to leave the room. “I mastered today’s lesson, so I get free time now.”

After she left, Davina spoke up, “She’s not wrong. I’m a horrible Harvest girl.”

“Monique screamed and fought after they slit my throat. If she’d been rescued instead of you, she would have done the same thing.” Davina didn’t look reassured, but the two of them continued to work on her rose, to no avail.

(Abigail realized after they were done that she never argued that Davina was a good Harvest girl, just that Monique was also bad.)

\---

That night, they were invited to a party. (“It’s political, and you three are representative of the witches’ power,” Genevieve had explained.) Claudia had taken Davina and Abigail dress shopping (but not Monique, who had chosen to have her guardian die, unlike Davina (Claudia remembered when Sophie was a little girl, after all)). Abigail wished she had more time to find something perfect, but she finally found something that was beautiful but mature (or at least, that’s how her mother put it). It was a form-fitting, dark green dress that ended just above her knees. Sheer black lace attached at the waist as a second layer to the skirt, and the same lace made up the lower half of long, slightly flared sleeves. Davina picked something silver, sparkly, and sleeveless.

The compound was filled with blue strobe lights, loud music, and sweaty guests dancing without regard for personal space. Having heard of Elijah Mikaelson, Abigail had been expecting something… different. She felt young and out of place (and with the strange lighting sucking the color out of her dress she looked like she was at a funeral, not a party), but managed to hide most of her discomfort. (One day, she might be a faction head, and the other factions would remember how capable she seemed, even as a child.)

They strode in as if they owned the place. Abigail admired the way Genevieve commanded the room with her body language. It was something she would have to learn – not now, when she might make a fool of herself in front of the crowd by overdoing it, but later, in front of the mirror.

Genevieve led them to a table. They had to stand, but it was better than being close to the dance floor. The redhead flagged down a waitress and asked what non-alcoholic accommodations had been made for the girls.

“There’s a special waiter who’s been assigned to follow them as best as he can with sparkling white grape juice, made with real champagne grapes.”

“Good,” Genevieve said dismissively. “Send him here so we know which one he is.” The waitress scampered off.

Abigail said something to Monique that she forgot two seconds later, some note on posture or how to smile at someone who isn’t an ally but isn’t yet an enemy. (Her mother had taught her a lot of useful things, no matter how strange the lessons in political courtesy had seemed in elementary school.) Genevieve left (to find Klaus, although she didn’t need to say that outloud for them to hear it). Abigail was between Monique and Davina, so neither of them could start a fight without forgoing subtlety, but Monique’s glare was enough to drive Davina away from the table before the waiter arrived with their sparkling white grape juice. (Abigail would’ve appreciated that Elijah had bothered to get juice made from real champagne grapes more if her parents didn’t but the same stuff from Trader Joe’s every New Year’s.)

Monique left a couple of songs later. Abigail suspected she was going to mess with Davina, but she couldn’t find the energy to do anything about it, not after having a conversation with Monique. (She’d killed her own aunt for loving her too much, she’d smiled every time Davina failed, took pleasure in causing pain. There was something wrong with her that Abigail hadn’t noticed before the Harvest. But she remembered those whispered insults, the giggling over other people’s flaws, and wondered if it had always been there.)

“So you’re one of the famed harvest girls,” someone drawled, interrupting Abigail’s train of thought. She turned to face the voice casually, as if it hadn’t surprised her at all.

“You’re the vampire faction head, right? Promoted from Marcel Gerard’s inner circle,” Abigail greeted him. He was wearing a dress jacket over a collarless shirt, and she wondered if he even owned a tie.

“Diego Pedraza,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.

“Abigail Natale-Jones,” she replied, shaking his hand (carefully practiced with her mother: two shakes, slightly more firm than the other person unless they have a death grip (though she went slightly limper this time since she didn’t want to test his super strength.)) “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’re allowed to drink champagne?”

“They provided nonalcoholic drinks for us.”

“Right, right…” Abigail got the impression that Diego wasn’t particularly eloquent (but did her best not to underestimate him because of it – he must be leader for a reason after all). “See, I’m kind of curious why you’re considered leaders when you’re just kids and someone else does all the actual leading.”

“Because we’re powerful,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and smiling casually, trying not to make it sound like a threat (peace was the objective for now, after all). “Our coven needs powerful leaders, and once we’ve finished training, we’ll be those leaders.”

“So I’m talking the future of New Orleans, then?” He sounded like he was trying to mock her, but she let it roll off.

“You could put it that way,” she said, smiling.

\---

The party dissipated pretty quickly after Diego and the blonde werewolf had their fight. Hayley’s speech had made everyone think deeply, and that kind of wrecked the atmosphere. Davina had left early, apparently.

The next day, Davina brought her rose to life with ease. Abigail took her out for ice cream.

\---

Abigail wasn’t quite sure how she had ended up in a headstand. Somehow, when Monique decided they had to contact the Ancestors, it involved her and Davina assuming awkward ritual positions. Monique had obviously been planning to make Davina do the headstand and have Abigail in the strange half-squat position, but Abigail volunteered in order to spare Davina more humiliation at Monique’s hands. Meanwhile, Monique got to just lay down.

Suddenly, Monique jolted upright and screamed, followed by rapid Latin.

“Monique, are you okay?,” Davina asked worriedly. (She’d forgive everything Monique had done if they could just be friends again, Abigail realized) “Monique? You sounded like you were possessed.”

“I wasn’t possessed,” Monique said breathlessly, grinning. “I was channelling the Ancestors. They say it’s time to complete the Reaping. To do that the fourth Harvest girl must be resurrected, which means… it’s time for Genevieve to die.” (She sounded so happy about it. Abigail felt a chill run down her spine.)

The conversation ended there – Abigail couldn’t argue with the spirits, and wasn’t sure she wanted to. (Cassie or Genevieve, friend or mentor, an impossible decision.)

(When she looked up the ritual Monique did, surely enough, the embarrassing positions weren’t a part of it.)

\---

“And who put you in charge?”

“I communed with the ancestors. They said it’s time for you to sacrifice yourself.”

Genevieve scoffed quietly and glanced over at Abigail for support. Abigail kept her face limp and expressionless, although she was wracked with guilt for not defending her mentor (but also for wanting to, when her friend could be alive again.) Genevieve didn’t stop staring at her even though she was replying to Monique.

“Of course,” she said, looking as though every word caused her pain. “It will be an honor to fulfill my duty to our coven. But it’s not quite my time yet.”

“The Ancestors were very clear. We need for you to die so our community can have the full power of the Harvest.”

“Careful, Monique,” Genevieve all but interrupted her, entering full speech making mode.  “Not so long ago I was one of those Ancestors. A spirit forced to watch as, little by little, witches surrendered everything to vampires. We may no longer live under Marcel’s thumb, but I for one am don’t particularly enjoy answering to Elijah, either. Before I take my leave, I’d like to ensure that you have the power to control your own fate. The Mikaelsons’ mother Esther was a powerful witch. Her spellbook contains enchantments that we can use to our own ends. I can steal it for our coven and we’ll never be held in subjugation again. You’ll have your sacrifice… but I have things to do before I die.”

(Abigail realized then that there would always be some excuse for Genevieve to prolong her life, and eventually she’d have to choose between killing her mentor and getting her friend back.)

\---

After the witches disbanded, Genevieve pulled Abigail aside for a private conversation.

“I was counting on you to help me out. You’re my favorite, after all, maybe I made a mistake.” The words were intended to hurt. (They stung, but lacked the sincerity to be truly destructive.)

Abigail opted for honesty. “Genevieve… you’re my mentor, and I admire you, but… Cassie was my friend.”

“So I can’t count on your help with Monique, then. You agree with her.”

Abigail thought about how Monique seemed… excited over the prospect of death, of sacrifice. “I don’t agree with her. You and Cassie are equally important to me. I couldn’t choose between you if the ancestors weren’t on Cassie’s side as well.” She focused on being sincere. (That wasn’t her default state, which was probably a problem for her emotional health (but a useful tool for a politician).)

Genevieve looked disappointed. “So if I could find a way to make the Ancestors let me stay, you would defend that decision?”

“Yeah, but… don’t get your hopes up.”

Genevieve left, and Abigail felt as though she had just done something terrible.

\---

Preparing for the Fete des Benedictions, nothing seemed to have changed, even though Abigail expected them to. But she was still the favorite, although it wasn’t hard, with Monique complaining about acting like fake witches for tourists and Davina’s lackluster enthusiasm. (It could have been worse. Monique liked the idea of the private party, where they would receive gifts, and Davina did everything she was told.) Costume fittings and instructions on what to do passed quickly.

Then the big day arrived.

Nobody had thought to teach the girls to do a proper beauty pageant wave while riding on thrones in the parade. Abigail knew how, but she could see Monique’s wave was far too enthusiastic. (If she could see behind her, she’d have seen that Davina didn’t know which way was the right way and had decided to smile charmingly with smaller waves close to her chest.)

Getting off of the thrones and onto the stage, both Davina and Monique accepted the helping hands offered to them, but Abigail gathered her skirts in her hands and did it all herself (practiced and poised, like a queen (or an Elder)). (They were all too young to be expected to do everything regally, but Abigail worked to be ahead of the curve.)

Standing center stage, she stood out from the others, with their asymmetrical sleeveless dresses and hair worn down with spiky plant crowns. Her dress had long sleeves that hooked onto her middle fingers and her hair was pulled up with strands of quartz left dangling. (It was intentional on Genevieve’s part, she hoped, a reward for obedience and trust.)

When it was her turn, she raised her arms, blew softly (not her idea, but an okay one), and closed her eyes briefly, sending a powerful gust of wind through the crowd. Monique had smiled at them, pleased with her own strength, but Abigail smirked. (It was modelled on Genevieve; she’d practiced in front of the mirror.) Davina went last, and then the three of them stood still as the crowd enjoyed the fireworks.

\---

Abigail led them from the stage to the private party. Elijah Mikaelson was waiting at the gate, and she nodded at him as she passed, although he took no notice of her. Instead, he called Davina aside when she passed by him. Abigail stopped out of earshot.

“What are we waiting for?” Monique asked impatiently.

“We shouldn’t make her look bad by being late. The party is a demonstration of strength, which requires demonstrating unity.” Monique rolled her eyes and continued inside. Abigail stayed put until Davina and Genevieve joined her.

Together, she and Davina stood in front of the thrones and chatted up guests, making small talk about what it was like to have such a big party in their honor and dodging questions about what it was like to die. Monique hadn’t joined them, choosing instead to stand in the middle of the staircase. She was somewhat easily evaded by everybody going up or down, but she was still being inconvenient for no real reason (like a metaphor for a lot of her recent behavior).

Diego stopped by (wearing a zippered hoodie despite the formal setting, though at least it was black). “Well, well, if it isn’t the future of New Orleans – or is it the city’s present now?” Abigail suspected he’d taken his time coming up with that line.

“Near future, at the very least,” she replied graciously. “Are you asking for a blessing today?”

“Yeah. Nothing too big though. Just going through the motions to maintain the peace – that is the deal, right? We bow down a little and the witches accept the peace?” (He was too blunt for politics.)

“We accepted the peace when Genevieve signed the treaty. The party is one step in investing ourselves in its success – you might be bowing, but we’re serving, and we’re not allowed to refuse. Everyone lowers themselves.”

“Seems to me like you’re being raised, what with the stage and the thrones and all.”

“Some people are lowered less literally than others.” She smiled and let out a chuckle. He let out a short laugh too, accompanied by a smile that appeared genuine (though she wasn’t being that funny, she thought).

“I’ll leave you to the meet and greet then,” he excused himself. Abigail was proud of herself for establishing a solid political connection. (She shushed the part of herself (stupid teenage hormones with no concept of age gaps, she figured) that thought about connecting the way Genevieve politically connected with Klaus.)

Diego wasn’t the only faction leader who stopped to talk before the gifts were received. Francesca Correa tried to talk to Davina first.

“I don’t really know,” Abigail heard the other girl say. “If you want to talk politics, you should really ask Abigail.” (She’d have to thank Davina for the opportunity to show off later.)

“Well then,” Francesca said, turning around and moving closer to Abigail. “I was just asking your friend whether we’ll be doing this every year from now on, or whether this is just a one-time acknowledgment of power.”

“Well, that really depends on who’s in charge of the witches by next year. Most likely, we just won’t insist that the major factions come and request blessings.”

“Why wouldn’t Genevieve be around?” Francesca looked like she was hunting for some weakness in the witch faction. Abigail took care to avoid giving her one.

“Oh, well, Genevieve was resurrected at the cost of one of the Harvest girls. To bring Cassie back, she has to return to the Ancestors.”

“And who’s in line to replace her?”

Again, Abigail found herself trying not to give away too much. “It’s hard to say. The Harvest girls are all strong candidates, obviously.”

“Obviously. Are you hoping for the position?”

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about it.” (She had thought about it a lot, of course (years before the Harvest, even (and her mother longer than that)).)

Francesca nodded knowingly before walking away.

\---

Eventually, Genevieve started the main event with a speech explaining the custom. The first offering was from the pregnant wolf (Hayley, Abigail remembered). She moved to place her gift (a rectangular box, too big for jewelry) at Davina’s feet, but the witch standing by the front of the line (Vanessa Laurent, disgraced for not realizing her sister was possessed by Celeste Dubois) grabbed her arm and pointed at Monique instead. Hayley looked bewildered, but complied. Abigail maintained a smile (though it was a little forced) but she turned to see how Davina was taking it. (Both girls hoped that it she would just get every third gift.)

Francesca was next (a large square box with a tree on the lid). The aide sent her to Abigail. They made eye contact before Francesca kneeled to place the box at her feet – Abigail felt, irrationally, like she was the one on the floor. (She decided then that Francesca was a snake through and through, and the humans were dangerous so long as she was in charge.)

Diego’s gift was a red cylinder, which he plopped unceremoniously by Abigail’s foot. (He might be blunt, but he was smart enough to realize that with a tall gift he wouldn’t have to actually kneel.) The fact the the gift went to Abigail and not Monique meant that the aide wasn’t even dictating order, just saying not to give anything to Davina (who had realized this too, and seemed even more distressed).

The next gift was a wooden box, placed by some irrelevant vampire halfway between Abigail and Monique (which meant Abigail would have to decide whether or not to let Monique have it later, how rude of him). Abigail met eyes with Davina, trying to channel as much sympathy as possible. (Maybe she’d split her gifts with Davina, though the humiliation couldn’t be undone.)

When one of the humans put a black velvet box on her pile, Abigail turned to Monique and asked her what she thought her gifts were, bored of the silence. Something must have just snapped in Davina (though who could blame her), because she stood up and walked towards the back of the room. Abigail wished she could do something (but she had to demonstrate that her leadership role was more important than personal concerns (and her mother would be angry if she did)). She stayed in her throne, continuing to accept gifts. At some point Genevieve walked to their side, and from some conversation she exchanged with Monique, Abigail learned that this fiasco was Genevieve’s doing.

(So much for a display of unity. How had Genevieve been stupid enough to do this?)

The party was interrupted as Klaus dragged some boy onto the stairs, Davina following them. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please,” he announced grandiosely, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “We are gathered here today to pay homage to our beloved witches. But one very special witch has been utterly ignored. That seems unfair to me.” With that, he held out a ring-sized purple box towards Davina.

“No,” she said (and Abigail was reminded of the stubbornness that had almost levelled the city and left three girls dead). “I don’t want your gift.”

Then Klaus began a self-indulgent monologue, pardoning someone who had obviously not been a priority to him if he was still alive, and making a huge display of his mercy. (He was so obviously planning something that required a witch, but Abigail couldn’t guess what. And why not use Genevieve, who was literally in bed with him?)

It was a good thing that Davina had gotten some recognition, at least, although it shattered the illusion of unity even more.

Monique was grinning, surprisingly. “Look how powerless she was against him. For someone associated with the element of fire, she doesn’t have much burn left, does she?” She giggled (and how had Abigail never noticed how cruel that giggle sounded before the harvest?). (She wished that Cassie had come back instead.)

“Don’t insult her Monique. She’s been humiliated enough.” They were saved from further argument by the sound of drums. Looking at the men in white suits, Abigail couldn’t help but smile widely. (Which of their allies had put this together for them? It wasn’t planned) Sitting on a throne, with gifts at her feet and a band playing for her, what a day.

Then one of them started speaking and Abigail transitioned from honored to terrified in a split second as soon as she heard the name Marcel Gerard. When the lights switched off and the killing started, she was practically dragged out the door. She had been trying to find Davina in the crowd (and trying to ignore the image of Diego fang-deep into one of the musicians she’d seen in one flash of the lights).

\---

She went Cassie’s tomb that night, when Monique went to confront Genevieve.

“You’ll be back soon,” she whispered. “Minutes or hours. And hey, your first Fete des Benedictions might not have any killing.” (Genevieve had embarrassed the witches to teach a lesson that didn’t need to be taught. Abigail focused on that when loyalty to her mentor seemed to overwhelm her love for her friend.)

She waited for three hours, wondering if Genevieve had put up a big fight (if Monique had enough power to subdue her). Finally she called Monique’s cell.

Apparently, the situation had resolved itself within fifteen minutes, and Monique hadn’t thought to inform her. They had received a new task from the Ancestors.

“A baby? Really?”

“The Ancestors have requested it.”

“But… it’s not even born yet. How can we do that to an infant?”

“It’s the right thing to do. Aren’t you happy? You’re the only one who actually likes Genevieve.”

“We can’t tell Davina.” From the silence on the other end of the line, Monique was confused.

“Why would she defend the child? She hates Klaus,” she finally responded

“But Hayley tried to give her offering to Davina. They’re friends, sort of, I think. And even if she doesn’t warn Hayley, if Marcel finds out about it, he’s got special rules about killing kids.”

“You’re right, I guess.” Monique hung up rudely.

(Abigail kissed Cassie’s name on her plaque and apologized for getting her hopes up, even though there was no telling if she was listening. (She didn’t apologize for being happy Genevieve was alive, but that was implied, hopefully.))

\---

The next day, the gifts from the Fete des Benedictions arrived. She’d forgotten about them, what with the massacre and agreeing to infanticide.

She opened Diego’s first. He’d hidden a thin white box in it, standing vertically, alongside a note (which meant he really did choose a cylinder so he wouldn’t have to kneel, how petty). She opened the note first, curious to see what blessing he would request. _The goodwill of the future of New Orleans_ it read in cramped, messy writing. (What a waste of a magical favor.) Inside the box was a necklace, simple chain connected to a tacky plastic pendant in the shape of a flying car. (She didn’t know what she expected.)

She opened Francesca’s next, admiring the beautiful box before opening it. There was an off-white envelope inside made of heavy, likely expensive paper. Beneath it, a mysterious bundle of black velvet concealed the gift. The note inside the envelope was handwritten in looping, graceful cursive on embossed stationery. (Apparently, Francesca did nothing halfway – Abigail would have to remember that.) The request was more eloquently phrased: _I request the benefit of the doubt after we reveal a particular secret that may cause some minor troubles. You will know what it is when you hear it. Thank you for your generosity, Francesca Correa_. The request certainly was much grander than Diego’s, and Abigail would have to talk to Genevieve about it as soon as possible. She looked inside the box for her gift, pulling the black velvet aside to reveal a delicate china tea set, embedded in styrofoam so that the pieces couldn’t move around. On the sides, pale blue and silver swirls imitated the movement of breezes, with silver clouds painted on the saucers and lids of the teapot and sugar bowl. (It was pretty enough to make her a tea drinker instead of a coffee drinker, Abigail thought.)

The plain wooden box that the vampire had placed equally spaced between the two Harvest girls had ended up going into her pile, and it stood out amongst the mostly ornate boxes. She lifted the lid to reveal a beautiful gold hairpin with pearls in an abstract swirling design. It was too fancy to wear outside of formal events, but Abigail resolved to wear it at the next one she attended. The note was underneath the pin, written in pencil on the unlined side of a flashcard: _The hairpin is something I picked up in the twenties, and I never found someone I wanted to give it to. For my blessing, I ask for a love charm. If the hairpin isn’t enough to connect the spell to me, my contact info is on the other side of the card._

Abigail flipped the card over to look, and surely enough it was there (and his name was apparently Benjamin “Benji” Lavergne). She could think of several love charms that would work off of just his name alone, although there might be a few months to wait before results.

There were other gifts – a basket inlaid with mother of pearl containing first edition books (Cassie would have loved it), a slim mahogany chest with delicate earrings, a yellow box tied with red ribbon holding some rare herbs, and more – but none of the blessings would require much effort. Abigail decided to leave for the lycée, to begin fulfilling them and warn Genevieve of Francesca’s request.

\---

Genevieve and Monique were both in the lycée, Monique quietly demanding that Genevieve hurry up with the infanticide. (The look in her eyes was crazed, as if she couldn’t wait for the killing.) Genevieve used Abigail’s entrance to excuse herself from the obviously annoying conversation.

“Abigail. So nice to see you.”

“Actually, Genevieve, I need to talk to you.”

“In private?” she asked, glancing at Monique, who glared at Abigail in response.

“Not necessarily,” Abigail replied.

“Then let’s not bother with it. What do you have to say?”

“Francesca Correa’s blessing is… demanding. The human faction has some secret she says may cause trouble, and she’s asking for us not to take action the second we find out what it is.”

“Did she ask for digression?”

“No,” Abigail answered, figuring out Genevieve’s plan quickly. “You’re going to blackmail her into doing favors for us by threatening to warn the Originals she has something up her sleeve, aren’t you?”

“That, or to tell us the secret before anyone else, so we can include it in our plans, instead of being caught by surprise just like all the other factions.” Abigail smiled. (The previous day’s lesson had shaken her faith in Genevieve’s intelligence, but this restored it.)

“Good. Now I have to start on fulfilling my blessings.”

“What’s the rush?” Monique said, ending her brief (but welcome) silence. “They’re not expecting much concrete stuff, anyway. In all likelihood, something similar will happen and they’ll thank us without us actually doing anything.”

“Monique,” said Genevieve sharply. “The witches have to prove that we go through with our deals. If there aren’t the remains of various luck spells and love charms in the lycée, then every witch will know you aren’t going through with it. And when a secret is kept by many, someone always tells.” (Abigail couldn’t have put it better herself.)

Monique stormed off, muttering some excuse about needing to look through the blessings (but the look in her eyes was sinister, and Abigail was almost scared).

\---

A few days later, she had an idea (although it had been building up for quite a while). A crazy, horrible idea that would put blood on her hands (but thinking about how excited Monique got over killing an infant (and Genevieve), she knew it was the right one).

It didn’t take long to prepare the ritual Monique had done, to open her mind to the will of the Ancestors. Before she began chanting, she said her request aloud.

“Please,” she began. “Cassie was… is my friend. There are four people kept alive by your power. Genevieve is the default, but she’s a good leader, and you’ve already promised her your life. But there’s another – a monster, a sadist.” The last word felt good to say; it summed up the truth so completely. “Please, is it possible to take Monique instead?” She began the chanting, waiting for a response.

Talking to the ancestors – it was like their thoughts were beamed into her head more than phrased into words. Her vision filled with yellow and she began to see double, but it was over quickly.

The answer was simple: yes.

\---

When she went home, she took out Maney and hugged him (but could a stuffed toy forgive what she was about to do?)

\---

Abigail decided to wait until after the child was dead – every scrap of power was needed to get to the Mikaelson baby, and Monique was ruthlessly loyal to the Ancestors if nothing else.

(Although, she’d never plotted first degree murder before – was Abigail worse than her?)

\---

(Did it matter?)

\---

“I’ve been thinking… I want to try contacting a dead human. But the only spell I can find takes at least two witches.” Abigail turned to look at Davina, startled at how casual she sounded when talking about something so unheard of. (She’d been reading Genevieve’s family grimoire, an invitation not extended to either of the other Harvest girls, something Abigail had noted with pride.)

“Is that the best idea?” Abigail asked, getting up to look at the spell Davina was laying out.

“Why wouldn’t it be? Even the chant is simple, _elikopte fantomes, souliter mouri, vous reveler_.”

“I don’t know if the ancestors would like us messing around in the spirit world,” Abigail said. (She was cautious, slow of action if not of mind (but she’d have to act without hesitation if she wanted to kill Monique, wouldn’t she).)

“It’s just a simple seance,” Davina reassured her.

“Phony witches do seances to impress tourists. They’re not real,” Monique interrupted as she grabbed some ingredients off the shelves. Then she left to do some mysterious spell that she wouldn’t tell them about (although the look on her face told Abigail somebody was going to get hurt). They watched her leave, unsure what she had meant to contribute to the conversation. Once she was gone, Davina pulled out a violin and put in in the center of her spell.

“What’s that for?”

“It was my friend Tim’s. Come on, what’s the point of being a witch if we can’t use our magic for stuff like this?” Abigail smiled and nodded, grabbing Davina’s hands when they were extended towards her.

(Davina had that once before, when they were all preparing for the Harvest. The incident had ended up with three lockers on fire and the principal hunting for the culprit, but it was fun.)

A breeze filled the room. Davina reached for a knife and cut her palm, letting some of the blood fall onto the table. At that moment, the lights went out.

“Tim?” Davina said hopefully. Abigail could hear violin music echoed by one of the wind chimes, which Davina walked away to touch. Suddenly, a blonde man appeared behind Davina and put his hand on her shoulder.

“What a delightful tune,” he said.

Then every window in the lycée shattered.

\---

Genevieve didn’t tell them about her plan until two days before it was to take place. (She said she was worried that it might have to change, and didn’t want to confuse them. (Abigail understood she meant she didn’t trust Monique (but also didn’t trust Abigail not to let something slip to Monique).))

But it was a good plan. Abigail wasn’t as surprised as she should have been to discover that the Correas where actually the Guerreras – in trying to predict Francesca’s secret, she’d thought of far worse things.

(It’d be pretty hard to come up with a better plot to murder Monique, Abigail thought. (But did she need one? It wasn’t like Monique was a genius, and she didn’t have any hope of covering up her crime if Cassie came back.))

\---

Monique kept saying that Genevieve wasn’t going to go through with the sacrifice (twenty-seven times, but no one was counting). Abigail kept dodging that conversation.

(She couldn’t let it slip that if Genevieve spared the child and accepted her death, Monique would be saved too.)

\---

Abigail held Hayley’s arm down as she struggled. It felt… evil, forcing her to suffer the pain of labor only to turn around and murder her child. (But Abigail was going to kill again, soon, so maybe she shouldn’t judge.)

She saw Genevieve look up fearfully, and turned around to see Klaus Mikaelson barging through the church doors, decapitating one of the witches who had accompanied them.

Monique moved forward and Abigail took the cue to start chanting a spell to pin him against the wall. They continued to chant as they focus on the birth.

When the baby was almost out, Monique went to look under the blanket and see the miracle of life itself, but Abigail was uncomfortable with the idea of looking there without permission or necessity (and she did truly believe the baby’s death was a necessity, if she wanted Genevieve and Cassie (and she did, enough to kill twice)). And then Genevieve was holding the pink, blood covered little girl (innocent, unlike Monique).

“Please,” Hayley said weakly, interrupting Genevieve reiterating the rules of the sacrifice. “Please, can I hold her?” Genevieve complied. The sight was so moving, Abigail’s resolve almost broke (but it was too late for that).

And then Monique slit her throat.

Abigail fought to keep her face from showing the horror she felt. (If she was to make an enemy of an Original, he would never see her crack.)

(She didn’t understand why Monique couldn’t have let the moment happen instead of killing her while her baby was in her arms. She looked so satisfied doing it too. (Monique was digging herself a grave even if they survived Klaus.))

\---

They had to change into white for the sacrifice. (Abigail had bought a dress, choosing purposefully something of a different style than she had worn in the Harvest.)

“The moon has almost faded from the morning sky,” Genevieve said. “I need to prepare.” She left the girls by themselves.

“She’ll go through with it,” Abigail addressed Monique’s skepticism before it was voiced for what would have been the twenty-eighth time. “The Ancestors promised her her life.” She crossed her arms, ready for Monique to argue.

“And what about their promise to us? Four Harvest girls sacrificed, four girls returned. But her friends highjack it and ours have to stay dead?” Abigail struggled not to show any emotion, knowing what she did (all my friends are going to live, but you aren’t). “Cassie was our friend. I hope she doesn’t go through with it. Then you and I can do what the Ancestors want, and they’ll give us Cassie… and drag Genevieve back to where she came from.” (Abigail didn’t miss that the most emotional part of that for Monique was the idea of Genevieve’s suffering.)

Monique grabbed the baby and headed out to the altar, Abigail right behind her.

\---

They were still chanting when the Mikaelsons found them. Hayley was there, throat still bloody from being slit. (Of course, the baby’s blood, how had they overlooked that.)

“No!” she shouted, and Elijah threw an urn at Genevieve’s hand, almost ready to stab the crying infant. The blade was knocked out of her hand. Monique and Abigail rushed forward, joining hands, pulling on their power as Harvest girls. The three intruders were easily pushed away. (It was hard to concentrate, though, since she and Monique were channelling each other but she couldn’t let Monique see everything.)

“You fools,” Monique said, obviously enjoying the display of power. “To come against us in our place of power, in our strongest hour. You don’t face three. You face us all.”

The Mikaelsons fought, but the Ancestors fought back. Abigail had a hard time keeping track of it all, not while trying to maintain the connection (and keep Monique away from certain memories, of course (maybe it was that extra effort that made all the difference in whether or not she could’ve stopped Klaus)).

Then her feet weren’t on the ground anymore, and there was something in her chest.

\---

And so Abigail Marie Natale-Jones died (again).


End file.
